by Eric Wilder
“Is there more of this down there?” Jack asked.
“That’s all there was,” Odette said.
“You sure about that?” Jack said.
“Nothing in the hold. I found that crate in the galley,” Odette said.
“Dammit!” Jack said.
“At least there are four bottles,” Chief said. “One for each of us.”
“Very funny,” Jack said. “Five years of work down the proverbial drain.”
“Maybe not,” Eddie said.
“What?” Jack said.
“The outside of this crate has a bottle branded on it. Seems like I saw lots of crates in the metal storage building branded with that exact symbol.”
“You sure about that?” Jack said.
“The only thing I’m sure about right now is we’re all alive. Let’s crack open one of those bottles of expensive rum and celebrate.”
Having consumed a bottle of the Dominican rum, the four treasure hunters were feeling little pain when Jack landed the Argo at the marina. The boat had barely touched the dock when Eddie jumped to the walkway and sprinted toward the metal building. Odette, Chief, and he were waiting at the door when Jack arrived with the keys and a crowbar in his hands.
Eddie grabbed the crowbar and headed for the nearest crate with a bottle marking on it. Odette stood with her eyes closed and her fingers crossed as Eddie ripped off the wooden top of the crate.
“Pay dirt,” he said as he produced a bottle of Dominican rum.
Chief and Odette were exchanging high fives. Jack was frowning.
“Aren’t you excited?” Eddie asked. “There are several dozen crates of rum in here.”
“And it’s all yours,” Jack said.
“Huh?” Eddie said.
“I’m sure it won’t take you long to figure out you own it all and don’t have to cut us in,” Jack said.
“You think I’d do that?” Eddie asked.
“You’re a lawyer, aren’t you?” Jack said.
“Forget that shit!” Eddie said. “We’re partners. There’s a quarter here for each of us. You have my word on it.”
Chapter 27
The sky had grown dark, only remnants of a winter sun dying on the horizon as Adela and I left Allemands. Despite the pot she’d smoked, and champagne she’d drunk, she wasn’t in a good mood.
“Where are we going now?” she asked.
“To the hotel to see Mama and Taj.”
“That’s not where they are,” Adela said.
“How do you know?” I asked.
“Madeline called you a sensitive. Maybe you don’t have the gift she thinks you do.”
“And you do? I thought you said you have no special powers.”
“You don’t believe your own eyes?” she said.
“Are you confessing?”
“I’m mocking you. You’ve told your story about me flying so many times I think you’re actually starting to believe it.”
“I know what I saw,” I said.
“Do you? What about this?”
A blaze ignited when Adela held up her palm. Putting the fire to her lips, she sucked it in and then blew flames from her mouth.
“Magic,” she said.
“Now, you’re playing games.”
Adela’s blue eyes sparkled in the flashing neon of a nearby sign. Instead of answering, she disappeared. She was smiling when I wheeled around, sensing her presence behind me.
“I like games,” she said. “Don’t you?”
“Not when someone is playing them on me. Let me in on your game,” I said.
“So you want to play with magic?”
“Is that what we’re doing?”
“Maybe,” she said. “Let’s walk down Bourbon Street.”
Adela didn’t wait for an answer, heading for a shortcut to the most famous street in the world.
“Hold up,” I said. “How do you know where you’re going?”
Adela clutched my hand, pulling me toward the music and lights coming from the clubs and shops on Bourbon.
“Catch up, slowpoke.”
We were only a block away and found the atmosphere on Bourbon Street electric. People wandered along the old byway and the sidewalks bounding it. The rain, leaving only a damp chill in the air, had moved north. A barker standing in the doorway of a strip club whistled when he saw Adela.
“Get in here, gorgeous,” he said. “We got naked girls, cold beer, and the best drinks in town. Only twenty bucks cover charge each, and that includes your first drink.”
The barker’s eyes grew large when Adela raised her arms, her clothes disappearing as she pirouetted. As the strip club barker and dozens of tourists stopped to get a glimpse of the naked young woman, Adela pirouetted again. The gathered crowd turned away, not believing their eyes, as Adela’s clothes reappeared.
“Are you getting your rocks off?” I said.
“Shut up, or I’ll make your clothes disappear.”
We worked our way through the slow-moving masses, often stopping to peer into the lighted windows of the many souvenir shops, music venues, and half-opened strip club doors. One tee shirt shop had a live, mannequin model in the window.
“Will you buy me a tee shirt like the one she’s wearing?” she asked.
“You bet I will,” I said. “It’ll look great on you.”
Bells tinkled as we entered the little tee shirt and souvenir shop. Rows of tee shirts filled the well-lighted room that reeked of incense and spilled beer. Finding the cheap tee shirt she wanted, Adela pulled it from the hanger and tossed it to me. A purple and gold fleur de lis decorated the front of the gaudy green tee shirt.
“Sure it’ll fit?” I asked.
“Want to see?” she said.
I quickly turned away, reaching for my wallet as I headed for the checkout counter. I handed Adela the sack containing the tee shirt, and we returned to the cacophony of Bourbon Street.
“What now?” I asked.
“Buy me a Hurricane?” she said.
Half the people around us were carrying alcoholic beverages purchased from kiosks and street vendors. One Bourbon Street establishment had a window open to the sidewalk that served drinks to the passing customers.
“There’s a place,” I said.
“Not there. I want a real Hurricane, from Pat O’Brien’s.”
“Why not?” I said. “We aren’t far away.”
A raucous crowd waited on the sidewalk outside the venerable French Quarter nightclub. Music poured from the open door as we entered the carriageway. We followed the slate floors to the courtyard bar and sat at a table near the flaming fountain. A waiter quickly found us.
“Two Hurricanes, one real and one Shirley Temple.” Adela was glancing around the lush courtyard, her former morose expression having returned. “What’s the matter?” I asked.
“Something about this place makes me sad.”
“You kidding? Strong booze, dim lights, hanging plants and a flaming fountain? How can this beautiful French Quarter courtyard make you sad?”
Adela didn’t answer as the smiling waiter returned with our Hurricanes.
“Don’t drink them too fast,” he said.
Sounds of laughter and music surrounded us as Adela sipped her icy pink concoction through red straws. I took a sip of my own and quickly pushed it away.
“That’s the real deal. Our waiter must have given you the Shirley Temple,” I said.
“Trust me,” she said. “This one isn’t a Shirley Temple either. Give me yours. I’ll drink them both.”
“And I’ll be carrying you back to the hotel.”
“I can handle my booze, thank you.”
“It’s your hangover,” I said.
I drank the water the waiter had also brought as I watched Adela continue to gawk at our surroundings.
“Have you been here before?” I asked.
“No,” she said. “It reminds me of someplace.”
“Where?”
“I remember a c
ourtyard like this from my dreams, nightmares really. I’ve had them since I was a little girl.”
“Hangover maybe. That’s the only thing this courtyard has caused. Not nightmares.”
“The courtyard in my dreams didn’t cause my nightmares. It was the evil that went on there.”
“Please explain,” I said.
Adela’s head drooped for a moment. “I don’t remember. The images always melted away when I opened my eyes. They always left me with a feeling of utter helplessness that would sometimes stay with me for hours. I feel that way now.”
“Are you playing games again or is this for real?”
“No games. I’m suddenly as depressed as hell.”
“Do you want to go?”
“Not yet. Maybe I’ll feel better when I finish this drink.”
“Trust me,” I said. “You’ll feel lots better.”
After finishing her first Hurricane and then starting on mine, Adela’s smile returned. Neither of us talked as we listened to the soothing sound of water dripping from the flaming fountain shaped like a giant champagne glass. Laughter pealed around us as patrons in the main bar sang along with the piano player. Despite her smile, Adela’s demeanor remained glum.
“Sorry, I’m not much company,” she said.
“This courtyard must remind you of the one at the Lalaurie Mansion,” I said.
“I’m not convinced I was ever there,” she said. “I’m Adela Kowalski from Michigan. This is my first visit to New Orleans.”
“What about what Baron Samedi said, and your fainting spell when we walked past the Lalaurie Mansion? That doesn’t include the voodoo veve on your chest and the fact you met a complete stranger with an exact veve on his chest. That’s a lot of coincidences.”
Adela shook the ice in her nearly empty glass and drank the last drops. When she plucked a cherry from the glass and used her teeth to separate the sugary fruit from its stem, a rush of erotic desire surged up my loins. Adela had other things on her mind and didn’t notice my wanton stare.
“What about the demon in the hotel and the dead woman both you and Taj claimed to see,” she said. “What does that have to do with anything?”
“That’s what Taj hired Mama and me to find out.”
“What difference does it make? Will it end my nightmares?”
“Taj is right to try and find answers to this puzzle. I don’t know if knowledge will end your nightmares.” I said. “They might even get worse.”
“Whatever you do, please don’t make that happen.”
The courtyard bar was beginning to fill up as I motioned for the waiter to bring our tab. A block from Bourbon Street, darkness and solitude began engulfing us. Persistent humidity had formed a hazy umbra around the moon.
“Today is the first day of winter,” I said.
“Winter solstice,” Adela said. “The shortest day and longest night of the year.”
“It looks like the moon is full.”
Adela squeezed my hand. “Almost. It won’t be full until tomorrow.”
“Are you a calendar checker?”
“I’m a witch, remember? I don’t need a calendar to know when it’s a full moon,” Adela said. “Want to make love?”
“No can do,” I said. “You’re still my client, and Mama almost killed me for that very reason last night.”
“Mama Mulate has no room to talk,” Adela said.
“Maybe you’d better explain.”
“She and Taj are a number now. I don’t know if they’ve consummated the relationship yet. What I do know is they soon will.”
“How can you be so sure?” I asked.
“I’m a witch. At least that’s what you’ve been telling everyone.”
“A beautiful witch,” I said. “Even if what you say is true, it doesn’t change the fact I probably shouldn’t have sex with you. As it is, I’m already compromised enough.”
“But you want to, don’t you?”
“I’d be lying if I said I didn’t.”
I closed my eyes for a moment as the moon began to dim. When I opened them again, I was in bed with Adela at the hotel. We were both naked. I had my arms around her and my hands on her breasts.
“I’m neither drunk nor stoned. Either I’m dreaming, or else this is real,” I said.
“I’m very real, and your nearness is exciting you as much as it is me,” Adela said.
Adela’s body was warm and soft and didn’t feel like a dream.
“Is this another game you’re playing on me?”
“We aren’t playing anymore,” she said.
Scooting away from her, I said, “Game or not, this isn’t a good idea. If I don’t get the hell out of here right now, I won’t be able to.”
Adela ignored my feeble protests as she crawled on top of me. Her sexual ardor had gone much too far for me to resist. My desire had grown red hot when her body suddenly stiffened, and she rolled off me. Her arms, locked across her bosom, red eyes, and the tears on her cheeks quickly poured cold water on my lust. She laughed through her tears when I finally managed to speak.
“That’s a record for me,” I said. “The fastest I’ve ever been rejected.”
Adela’s body remained rigid as she uncrossed her arms. Grasping my hand, she rested it on her breast.
“Take me,” she said. “I won’t resist you.”
“I can’t.”
“Please do it.”
“I’ve never forced myself on anyone.”
“Am I going to have to get you drunk and stoned again,” she asked.
“You’re the problem and not me.”
Adela’s arms crossed her chest and began sobbing again.
“I thought I could make love to you. I want to make love to you. I just can’t. Perhaps I never will.”
“Are you. . . ?”
“A virgin?”
“You aren’t, are you?”
Adela’s tears had begun flowing freely, and she buried her face in the pillow. When I got out of bed and began searching for my clothes, she stopped crying.
“Please don’t leave me. I don’t want to be alone tonight.”
“Then get dressed. We’re both leaving.”
“Where are we going?” she said.
“Mama Mulate’s house. We need her help.”
Chapter 28
Neither Adela nor I spoke during the cab ride to Mama Mulate’s house. Except for Mama’s beckoning porch light, the neighborhood was dark. The short respite from the rain we’d enjoyed most of the day, ended as we exited the cab.
The sky darkened, opening into a deluge as we rushed to Mama’s covered porch. Someone turned on a light in the entryway. Mama came to the door, opening it a crack.
“Who is it?” she said.
“Wyatt and Adela. Let us in, we’re drowning out here.”
Mama pulled us inside. “Come in this house,” she said. “You weren’t answering your phone. I was worried.”
As we followed Mama into her den, I gave Adela a quizzical glance. “You wouldn’t have anything to do with that, would you?”
“Maybe,” she said.
Mama grabbed towels from her linen closet and tossed them to us. “It’s raining cats and dogs out there. I have warm robes in the bathroom. Get out of those clothes and put them on. You won’t be going anywhere for a while.”
I waited in the hallway until Adela emerged from the little bathroom dressed in a fluffy bathrobe. When I joined them, I found Adela, Mama, and Taj waiting at the kitchen table.
“A slumber party,” Adela said. “I love it.”
Mama ignored Adela’s frivolity when she saw me staring at Taj. “I won’t even try to explain. You have every right to be angry with me after the way I treated you this morning.”
“No explanation or apology required. I already knew about you and Taj.”
“And how is that?” Mama asked.
“I told him,” Adela said.
“What else do you know?”
“Maybe t
he reason Adela and Taj are in New Orleans,” I said.
Mama went into the kitchen, smiling again when she returned with a pot of coffee. “If you don’t like coffee this late at night, I have other beverages.”
“I’d rather have what Taj is having,” Adela said. “Or, maybe even something stronger.”
“Not a bad idea,” Mama said. “Coffee will do nothing except keep us awake. I have a bottle of vodka chilling in the freezer.”
“Sounds lovely,” Adela said.
“Hungry?” Mama asked. “I have Tournedos Marchand de Vin that’s still warming on the stove.”
“Not for me,” Adela said. “Don’t want to ruin my buzz.”
“I’ll have some,” I said. “We haven’t eaten since this morning. I’m starving.”
Mama’s cats awoke when a nearby clap of thunder shook Mama’s little Creole cottage. They scurried into the room to satisfy their curiosity, all three soon crawling in Adela’s lap. Adela, hugging and stroking the cats, didn’t seem to mind. Mama shook her head when she returned with the tournedos and bottle of vodka.
“Hope you’re not allergic to cats.”
“No problems with allergies and I love cats.”
“Then you’re a cat person?”
“I had a few when I was growing up,” Adela said.
“I can tell,” Mama said. “So can my babies.”
Mama shooed the cats back into the kitchen as we gathered around the table, everyone except me drinking wine or vodka. I made do with a large mug of Mama’s strong Cajun coffee and a tasty plate of her tournedos. Mama replaced a Trombone Shorty CD with soothing background music from a string quartet.
After lowering the volume, she said, “I’m thinking seriously of returning Taj’s retainer. I did nothing today to help solve the mystery.”
Before Taj could protest, I said, “That’s what partners are for. Adela and I learned a lot. I still have questions. I also have a few answers.”
“Not another story about flying naked over the Mississippi River,” Mama said.
“No one will do much flying out there in the storm. If you’re skeptical about what I have to tell you, maybe I’ll just eat your wonderful tournedos and forget about telling you what we learned today.”